


Loose Change

by buttcushions



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sort of OOC i am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcushions/pseuds/buttcushions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outsider Loki quite literally runs into Thor at a coffee shop. Flirting and talk of pennies ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Change

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this in school with these characters in mind. I used different names, of course. Can't make my fangirl references in school work _too_ obvious, but I digress.The characterization certainly is a tad off but I thought to share it regardless.  
>  This puppy isn't beta'd so any fuck-ups are my own [if you catch any, let me know].

It is Saturday. That’s what the calendar said this morning, Saturday, November the 17th. Saturday being Saturn’s day, though others debate that it is the day for Saetere, or Loki. Two days before, it was Thursday or Thor’s Day. Trust me, I am not lost on the coincidence. Everything has a purpose, a meaning I suppose. The days then, are there to pay tribute to gods of forgotten religions, or to those named after them. The only thing I felt like paying today was give or take four dollars and thirty cents for Seattle’s best fair-trade bean. That’s how I ended up here.

\----

 

The room is warmly low-lit asides from the fluorescent screens of scattered macbooks atop hunchbacked laps and scuffed up tabletops. Definitely some hipster joint judging by the vintage adorned crowd and, what is that; For Emma, Forever Ago? I bought that album some time back. I suppose that Bon Iver isn’t as underground as it used to be, but the prospect of listening to mainstream music doesn’t bother me as it does all of the liberal art and liberal-everything frequenters here. Now, as much as I like to rag on hipsters, I can’t help but to relate. They feed on attention from being different; I like that. It’s pleasant reminder that even the assorted sore-thumbs and odd-ones-out can identify with a group.

In middle school, that wasn’t exactly so for me. While other excelled in popularity with talk of tamagotchis and their attempts at recreating frosted tips alla Justin Timberlake, I was not as aware of such trends. While I could have passed through my pre-adolescence blissfully unaware, or rather unconcerned of my status as outsider, my peers couldn't pass up the opportunity to remind me. I was bombarded by a tidal wave of nicknames. ‘Geek.’ That was a common one, ‘nerd,’ coming in at a close second. I held in slightly higher regard those who at least put creativity into theirs, notably that-girl-who’s-name-escapes-me. I believe she used, “butt-faced fart licker.”

Despite the stupidity of the comments I received, and the stoic facade I put up, I grew up believe that I was all the names they had called me, that I wasn't good enough.

____

“Do you even have a life?” They would ask me.

I’d nod, “Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you ever go out? You’re such a dork, I bet you read for fun.” 

“Of course not,” I’d insist, “Only on the weekends.” My sarcasm typically went unnoticed. 

“I so knew it, nerd.” 

As to finish the deed, they would slap the lunch money from my hands, the change dropping to the ground. I would stand as it danced about the floor, ringing sharp, metallic clangs in an all-too-familiar cacophony that slowly stilled. I developed the habit of not picking dropped change up, since it was only so long before it would knocked from my hands again.

Little did I know that something in such a nature would happen once more some odd years later in an off-the-beaten-path cafe. 

 

____

 

“Earl Grey. A large will be fine,” I call out to the latte-stained barista, “black, if you would.” I hand him over a five and walk out of the way, change in hand. The next seconds are a blur of frenzied movements, but lo and behold, all of my money ends up scattered across the tiles. I kneel to gather it up, but am stilled by a slew of apologies.

“Oh my goodness, I am so absolutely sorry!” the words tumble in a rush from the man’s lips as he scrambles to collect the coins he spilled across the floor. “I have been so good lately with watching where I walk,” he rants, more to himself than anyone else, “Look at me now.” He glances up at me, blonde hair in his face, “You’re okay, right? I didn’t do any irreversible damage, did I?”

I shake my head.

“Brilliant!” he grins, placing the coins into my hand. “This one,” he says, holding up a worn penny, “is from 1955. The ones they make today have a considerably smaller amount of copper in them. Those are smaller in weight and worth.” 

“How ‘bout that?” I say with raised brows, “thanks.” I absentmindedly turn the change over in my palm.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” he answers, dismissing the idea with the wave of his hand. “Those that are less appreciated hold more value,” he muses, eyeing the coin. “it’s quite a concept.”

“So is breathing between sentences,” I add, “it comes in handy every here or there.”

He laughs. “Every here or there, yes. Scout’s honour, I’ll try,” pausing for a moment, he sips tentatively at his coffee, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Loki,” I answer with a nod, “sorry, I have this issue with saying my own name. It’s nearly as bad as sharing things about myself.”

“Oh, I so understand,” he sighs, “the name is Thor, by the way. I always thought myself to be more of an Don, but what can I say?”

“It is quite lovely to meet you,” I laugh, shaking his hand with excessive fervency, “care to join me in waiting for my drink?” 

He arches his brow, bowing low, “Nothing would please me more.” We walk over in a comfortable silence. I take out my phone to check the time and Thor plucks it from my grip. “Aha! Got it!” he laughs, “is this an iPhone 5, I see? Aren’t you fancy?”

“Fancy? Hardly. I am talking to you, after all,” I tease with a jab to his side for good measure. 

With feigned indignation, he gasps, “Well, colour me offended. I might have to head out after a comment like that.” Nose proudly thrust into the air, he marches to the door, flinging it open. “Goodbye, Loki. It was... okay meeting you.”

I offer a disapproving smile, “Oh please, it was amazing.”

“Perhaps,” he replies curtly before adding with a smirk, “but I must be off, Loki,” closing the door.

I run after her and catch it before it closes. “I might need my phone back.”

“Oh yes,” he replies, offering me the phone, “’til we meet again.’ The screen was opened to a new text, addressed to a number unknown to me. The message read, “Do you happen to be free this coming Saturn’s Day?” 

By the time I looked up to ask why he had put it there, he was already gone.


End file.
